Dogged Devotion
by Jadzia Bear
Summary: Phillip and P.T. investigate a new act for the show, one with more personal meaning than Phillip anticipated. (Just a bit of kissing and cuteness, really :))


Phillip and PT investigate a new act for the show, one with more personal meaning than Phillip anticipated. (Just a bit of kissing and cuteness, really :))

Tags: fluff, no mention of charity or anne, dogs, cuteness, sweetness, established relationship, the briefest reference to past child abuse, kissing

* * *

It's so easy for Phillip to get _lost_ in P.T.'s kisses. Whether they've been making out in their office for a few minutes or half the afternoon, Phillip can't rightly say.

Their kisses oscillate between heated and languid and then back again, like they can't decide whether they should put a stop to this and get back to work or just tear each other's clothes off and have at it.

Roaming hands have undone all the shirt buttons available to them and made an utter mess of hair that started the day neatly coiffed. Every inch of Phillip feels warm and alive and _loved_.

P.T.'s hand slides beneath the waistband of Phillip's trousers just as a knock sounds at the door.

"Boys?" Lettie calls through the door.

"Don't come in!" P.T. calls out cheerfully.

"Wasn't planning to!" Lettie calls back in the same sing-song tone. She was under no aspersions as to what they were up to. "The lady with the dogs is here."

P.T.'s eyes light up. "The poodles!" He starts buttoning Phillip's shirt back up. "We'll be right out!" he calls back.

P.T. rights their clothes while Phillip neatens their hair with practiced fingers.

"Do I look all right?" Phillip asks, wiping a hand self-consciously over his mouth.

"Handsome as ever," P.T. informs him with still smouldering eyes and one last smacking kiss.

"I'm still not convinced poodles are the right fit for our show," Phillip says as P.T. leads him out the door.

"If you don't like them, darling, we won't have them," P.T. says simply and sincerely.

Gone are the days of P.T. making outlandish decisions without him, and for that Phillip couldn't be more glad.

They round the stands to find Madame Brodeur, a French woman who looks to be in her fifties. P.T. greets her with a graceful bow and makes the introductions. Something about her—perhaps her red velvet dress, her ornate walking stick or just her general manner—speak of a life spent in the theatre.

Surrounding her are six perfectly manicured poodles. Far from the anxious balls of fluff Phillip has seen before on ladies' laps, these dogs are stately creatures, their heads easily as high as his hip. Some black, some white, one a colour closer to champagne than anything else.

"Thank you for bringing these divine canines of yours to visit us today," P.T. says with his trademark magnanimous smile. "What can you show us?"

Madame Brodeur begins running the dogs through a routine that includes both impressive stunts, involving some of the dogs leaping over other ones in a precise sequence, as well as crowd-pleasing poses like one dog wrapping a paw around its friend in a facsimile of a hug.

"Aww," P.T. grins, playing the part of an enthralled audience.

Phillip's got to admit he's pretty enthralled as well. "Helen and Caroline are going to lose their minds," Phillip murmurs, softly bumping P.T.'s shoulder with his own. P.T. hums in agreement.

Throughout the display, Madame Brodeur was rewarding the animals with morsels of food from a small bag hanging at her waist. "We can dispense with the treats once they're familiar with the new location, of course," she explains with a thick French accent. "This just helps to keep them focused around all these enticing new smells."

One dog misses its cue and Phillip tenses, waiting for the walking stick to strike out in correction, but Madame Brodeur simply tuts and withholds the treat, then gives the command again. This time the dog executes its move perfectly and receives its reward.

"Madame Brodeur never hits her animals," P.T. says, close to Phillip's ear. "She takes pride in it. That's why I chose her."

Something wells in Phillip's chest as he registers the intention of P.T.'s words. He knew that after a childhood of beatings, it's painful for Phillip to see anyone, or anything, being hit, so he'd made sure not to bring that into their circus.

Phillip gives P.T.'s forearm a squeeze of gratitude. "Thank you," he says, looking up into Barnum's face and the overflowing affection there.

Phillip forces himself to step away before he gives them away and changes tack by extending a hand towards one of the poodles. "May I?" he asks Madame Brodeur.

"Of course," she permits, and Phillip strokes the head of a tall black dog, running his fingers through the wool-like fur. A long pink tongue lolls out of its mouth and the dog leans against his side, making him smile.

P.T. tells the madame that they'd love to have her join the show and makes arrangements to start rehearsals the next day.

"Mr Carlyle, shall we return to our… paperwork?" P.T. asks, his meaning not at all lost on Phillip.

"Hold on," Phillip replies over his shoulder, lips quirking. "I still have five more dogs to pet."

"Well, what sort of a partner would I be if I didn't share that workload with you?" P.T. comments, stepping forward.

A snow white animal leaps up and plants two paws on Barnum's chest, making him laugh.

Phillip watches P.T. rough his fingers through thick fur and decides he can't wait to see their new act in the ring.

* * *

If you enjoyed this fic I'd be very grateful for a review :)


End file.
